


bloodflood

by liawrites



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reader-Insert, Whump, geralt takes care of you, injured reader, minor injury, road side camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29877345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liawrites/pseuds/liawrites
Summary: the one where the reader gets injured, doesn’t tell geralt and he eventually takes care of her anyway!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	bloodflood

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to read and request over on my tumblr: liawrites
> 
> enjoy lovelies x

The pain has you gripping at the reins to stop your hands from shaking and you can’t quite remember the closest town being _this_ far away.

Geralt falls silent, the only sound between you being the occasional snorts from each of your horses and the brief “hellos” from travelers heading in the opposite direction. 

You’ve become acutely aware of the stinging, wet pain at the back of your head, hidden from Geralt by the hood of your cloak. 

All you can do is keep moving forward and ignore the way your eyesight swims with the effort of staying awake. 

Each step of your horse sends another deep ripple of pain through your head. The small cottages on the outskirts of the town are _still_ yet to appear on the horizon line. You think about saying something but can’t seem to make it past your pride. 

Of course, Geralt _had_ noticed the seconds after the fight, where you’d faltered as you were sheathing your sword. How you’d stumbled when you’d picked your way around the scattered Nekker bodies. 

What he hadn’t seen was the way you’d tripped as you were dodging out of the way of a Nekker, landing on your ass and the momentum throwing your head back into a rock. 

He was yet to say anything. 

The air is cool, the sun drifting toward the edge of the world. Still, even with the fresh breeze, you feel nothing close to refreshed. The hot rush of blood that throbs through your veins with each stab of pain, lines your skin with goosebumps. 

It’s only when your horse startles at a pair of birds that suddenly fly across your path, that you let your tight-lipped expression morph into one of anguish. The accompanied sharp yelp has Geralt nudging Roach forward from where she’d settled into place behind your horse. Normally, the acts of your high-strung mount would elicit laughter, Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed you in _true_ pain before and he wasn’t used to such silence – in all honesty, he’d been enjoying the change.

He glances down at the whites of your knuckles where you’ve knotted your fingers into the long mane in front of you and feels the gut-punch of guilt. 

For a moment he simply casts an eye over you, attentively and trying to find any source of injury.

“You’re hurt,” he says eventually, letting his hand reach out to rest against your thigh. You make no move to swat it away. 

“’m _fine_ ,” you mumble and he shifts Roach closer, until your knee bumps against his. An action had it happened at any other time, would have you feeling giddy. Now, you sway in the saddle and Geralt simply raises an eye at your pale, clammy skin when you glare at him.

Geralt doesn’t reply and instead, pulls Roach to a halt and swings his leg up and over her neck to land facing your horse. 

Your gelding stops after a couple more steps and you whine in pain.

He says your name sharply before sighing. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“s’not that bad,” you get out, hands still clinging to the mane.

“Let me help you down,” he speaks slowly, and when you attempt to protest, he sighs again, louder this time, his patience wearing thin.

Roach shakes her head, chain on the bit jangling as Geralt reaches up to try and help you.

As soon as his arm wraps around your frame, you quite literally give up your valiance, in one simple _swoon_. when your feet hit the ground, your hand instinctively snaps up to palm the back your head. 

“Okay… Let’s see it then.” 

Eventually, you pull back your cloak, and he sidesteps to stand behind you. 

“It’s not that bad, huh?” His fingers move to brush some of the hair away and you shrink away from him.

“Geralt, don’t _touch_ it.”

One hand catches your shoulder, before wrapping around you to guide the two of you off the dirt path you’d stopped on. 

At the sudden movement, the pain thrums. Geralt says something you don’t hear and it’s then, that your knees buckle. 

Moments pass. You’re not sure how long you’re out, but you come to still in immense pain.

“Ugh, gods.” you mutter, eyes squinting in the soft rays of the setting sun. 

A gentle snort of a nearby horse tells you that you’re still near the side of the road. It takes a while for you to notice Geralt sitting nearby, his own gaze moving from the _plants_ laying in front of him and you… Also lying rather ungracefully in front of him.

“’I'm pathetic,” you whine and he rolls his eyes, “how bad is it?”

“Well, what I _can_ tell you, is that you’re now a redhead….” he shifts closer, helps you sit up and passes you some kind of _herbal mix_ in an old bowl. You stare at it until he guides your hand toward your face.

“What’s in it?” you look to him and he keeps a neutral expression – meaning… Nothing good. 

“Better if you don’t ask, I think. It’ll help…” 

After a moment, you force it down, instantly pulling a face at the taste, “oh fuck that. I’d rather have the pain than _this_.” 

He ignores your comment, pulling out a clean piece of cloth and a bottle of herbal antiseptic that you’d made and told him you swore by. 

“Ah-ah,” you try and shuffle backward in your sitting position, “ow- but no, that’ll hurt _more_.” you lean away.

“Stop… being difficult.” Geralt’s beginning to find it hard to remain patient in your presence. 

After a moment, you exhale and let your hands clasp and unclasp in your lap, in anticipation of more pain.

He’s careful, his touch oddly gentle. From his place knelt behind you, he winces when you let out a pained whimper. 

You glance down at the red-stained cloth that Geralt discards to the side

“Are we going to… Camp here?” you ask.

“Yes.” 

“Well, I hope you’re prepared to keep me warm.”

“I haven’t thought about anything else.” He says sarcastically and you pout. 

“Right, just fuck off and leave me here then.” 

He stands and starts to move back toward Roach and his saddlebags. 

“ _Wait_ , Geralt.” he pauses with his back to you, “I didn’t mean it,” 

“I know, but I also don’t want to _starve_.” 

“oh,” fair enough, you think, beginning to feel the effects of _whatever_ Geralt gave you only five minutes ago. 

“Are you going to yell at me?” 

“For what? Not telling me you were hurt? That only made you hurt _more_ – I’ve still had to help you as I would have if you’d told me before we’d gotten back on our horses.”

You begin to cry, rather pathetically and Geralt falls silent. He was expecting you to fall asleep fairly quickly. The tears were new, but despite his unease, an innate need to comfort you lights up his body. 

The feeling that melts between the two of you is one of tenderness mixed with undertones of worry.

You’re small, nestled against his frame. Geralt started a fire before helping you over to sit between his legs, back resting against his chest. 

The warmth from the fire and Geralt’s body heat lulls you into an _almost_ sleep. Your head tilts back against his shoulder and in a loopy-quickly-becoming-painless way, reach up to let your fingertips brush across his jaw. 

“Thank you, Geralt,” 

“Anytime, _love_.” 

“…For taking care of me… _thanksss_. Don’t let me get cold.” Your last comment is deadly serious and he chuckles softly.

“Yeah, yeah,” 

You smile, dumbly. 

“So… Do you love me then?” you ask suddenly too groggy to discern between the feeling and the affectionate term 

Geralt pauses to take in the sweet expression on your face because fuck the way he’d convinced himself that he was immune to human emotion. He couldn’t imagine a life in which he wouldn’t love you. 

You were the one thing every other person on the Continent continued to tell him that he would never have. 

Someone to love him back, for reasons more than what he could simply give them in return. You gave him all that he never wanted, but began to believe he truly needed.

“Go to sleep,” he says eventually, mostly because the way you’re looking at him – eyes dopey with some kind of love-soaked feeling for him – makes him feel bad for not noticing your pain earlier, _and_ letting you get hurt in the first place. 

The thought that he should have protected you plagues his thoughts until he notices that you’ve gone quiet, chest rising and falling with sleep.

He lets his arms grow comfortably numb around your frame.

Geralt doesn’t sleep at all that night. He could have _lost_ you. 

With the fire beginning to die, Geralt struggles to get himself into a comfortable position on his back without jostling you from sleep. Your expression remains peaceful as he rests one arm behind his head and keeps you tucked, just so, against his side. 

When you wake with the early morning sun, that warms you from your toes and paints Geralt in shades of soft gold, you begin to realize that all the pain in the world couldn’t take this feeling away from you.


End file.
